Making Amends
by Sue Denham
Summary: Just a little addition to the end of 3:7 - 'He should have picked up on it, should have realised that someone with Ruth's terrier like attitude to a problem would not walk away from a situation without seeing it through to its conclusion.'
1. Chapter 1

_**Started this nearly two years ago when I'd just seen 3.7. Came across it last night and it just looked at me and demanded to be finished. I always felt as though the episode needed a different sort of ending. Danny escorting Ruth to the ambulance should not be the end of it. So here's the first part of what I expect to be a two part short**_

Harry's pace slowed as he approached his destination. He fleetingly wondered if he should have stopped at the over-priced shop in the atrium and picked up grapes, or chocolate, or flowers at the very least. There was, after all, an accepted protocol to be observed when visiting someone in hospital. It just wasn't the done thing to arrive empty-handed and he had to confess that he felt decidedly under-prepared.

He dismissed the thought; he was well aware that he was only coming up with excuses to delay the visit that lay ahead of him. He'd never been that comfortable visiting colleagues in hospital; over the years it had been a journey he'd had to make with frightening regularity, often with an ultimately unhappy outcome. This visit at least, there wouldn't be the added minefield of having to make polite conversation with family, of blithely reassuring a wife or husband that their partner would be fine, whilst trying not to think of the fact that it was his decision making that led to their presence in the hospital in the first place.

He pulled at his cufflinks as he neared the door; it wasn't that he didn't want to see Ruth, it was more the fact that he was feeling guilty about the way that he had casually accepted Sam's story about her sending a text to explain her absence from work.

Danny had been spot on; a text message really wasn't Ruth's style. He should have picked up on it, should have realised that someone with Ruth's terrier like attitude to a problem would not walk away from a situation without seeing it through to its conclusion.

Had they noticed her absence and acted on it earlier, they could perhaps have spared Ruth her 18 hour ordeal, and perhaps found a way to take Forrestal alive.

Danny had rung in to report that the diamonds had been recovered and that Ruth was fine but, on hearing the news, Harry felt that he owed it to her to check that out for himself.

He cleared his throat and raised a hand to knock on the door. As he did so the door opened and he found himself face to face with Ruth, hoping that his face wasn't registering the same expression of surprise that hers was.

Recovering quickly from the initial shock of seeing her standing there – the dark rings beneath her eyes betraying the fact that she'd not slept for over twenty four hours - Harry quickly took in the fact that she had her coat around her shoulders and looked as though she was preparing to leave.

"I thought the Doctor wanted to keep you in overnight for observation?" he asked accusingly.

Ruth pulled a face. "There's no need...I'm fine...really."

Harry gestured towards the room. "Don't you think that perhaps the Doctors are best placed to determine that? After all they are the ones with the degrees in medicine!"

"They said I could leave," Ruth explained simply.

"Oh." Harry turned his head back towards the nurse's station. "The nurse told me that..." he trailed off as he saw the flash of anger on Ruth's face.

"What business did they have telling you anything?" she demanded to know.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "I may have... misled the nurse a little as to the nature of our relationship."

He noticed the way that Ruth coloured slightly at the comment, but nevertheless she relented and took a pace back into the room, standing to one side; indicating that he could enter.

Feeling the absence of a gift even more acutely now, Harry made his way into the room.

"I'd rather you stayed here for a night," he told her sincerely as he turned to face her. "Just to be sure..."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

The tone in her voice was a little too strained for Harry's liking. He was about to press the issue further when she spoke again.

"I just want to go home," she told him. "I just want to wake up tomorrow... in my own bed, surrounded by familiar things."

He looked at her searchingly, as though trying to determine whether or not she was telling him the whole truth.

"Harry I'm fine. He didn't do anything."

"Besides leaving you tied up for over 18 hours."

She turned away and rubbed at her forehead with the base of her palm. "Can we just leave that for now...I'm tired Harry, I'm bordering on cranky and I want to go home."

"What's the rush? One night here and..."

"I want to go home," Ruth insisted, impatience plain in her voice.

Harry looked at her levelly. "If it's about your cat, I'll arrange for someone to pop round and feed him."

"It's not about my cat!" she told him sharply, turning on her heel and heading across to the other side of the room. "Not that I'd trust anyone on the Grid to feed him."

The corners of Harry's mouth twitched with the hint of a smile.

"Pardon me for saying so Ruth, but we ensure the safety of heads of state on a regular basis, I'm sure we are more than capable of attending to the needs of one cat!"

Ruth turned to face him and her expression showed that she wasn't entirely convinced. "And just how often do these very same people need reminding that they have to eat? He might end up the most well protected cat in the country but I've no guarantee that anyone would actually remember to feed him!"

The smile on Harry's face widened. "You have me there," he acquiesced.

"So," she looked at him, her eyes wide. "Will you take me home?"

* * *

The journey across town was completed in near silence. Every attempt by Harry to draw Ruth on what had happened to her for the past 18 hours was met with a frosty silence. She folded her arms and turned her head to stare out of the window; content to watch the bright lights of the city as they made their way through the evening traffic.

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as the car idled at a set of traffic lights. She was shutting him out... the events of the day were catching up with her and she was struggling to deal with them. She needed to talk to someone. He made a mental note to call someone about it first thing in the morning. The service was awash with specialists. This was the first time he'd actually been grateful for that.

"It's green!"

Ruth's voice pulled him back to reality, and he became aware of the blare of a car horn from behind. Ruth was right – as usual - the lights had now changed in his favour and he was causing something of a tailback. Letting off the handbrake, and ignoring the blare of the horns from the drivers behind, he eased the car forward, looking for the turning that would take him to the street where Ruth lived.

"It's just up on the left," she answered the question before he had the chance to ask it, and he dutifully pushed down on the indicator, the steady ticking filling the silence that had once again descended upon the car's interior.

The street he turned onto was tree-lined and filled with Large Victorian houses, all set back from the street and hidden from prying eyes behind well-tended trees and shrubs. Harry allowed himself a small smile. The setting was very Ruth; although he couldn't imagine how she managed to afford to live in such an affluent area on the salary that the service paid.

He pulled the car slowly to a stop as he reached the correct house number and watched as Ruth immediately fumbled with the door catch, eager to be out of the car.

Harry killed the engine and waited patiently for her to finally win her personal battle with the door.

"Would you like me to come in?" he offered. "Make you some tea?"

Ruth shook her head. "I'm fine...Thank you."

"You're sure?"

She forced a smile onto her face. "Sure... I'm fine from here... really."

"Humour me," he told her, opening the driver's door and stepping out onto the cold night air. "I'm not going anywhere until I know that you're safely back in your house,"

"And you can't do that from the car?"

He shot her a withering glance. "The faster you do this, the faster I will be out of your hair."

Seemingly resigned to the fact that he was going nowhere until she'd complied with his request, Ruth climbed from the car and stepped onto her driveway. She opened her bag and delved into it, searching for her house keys.

Harry was locking the door of the car when he heard a rustling from amongst the bushes on the pathway. Moments later a grey tabby cat emerged from the midst of the greenery and made its way swiftly over to Ruth's side, winding its way around her ankles.

"Looks like someone's pleased to see you home," he remarked as he joined Ruth in the driveway.

"Looks more like someone realises that the person who can get the top off the cat food is home," she grumbled as she searched the bag again, trying to locate the errant keys.

Fidget, undaunted by the slight on his character continued to demonstrate that he really was pleased to see his owner home, winding his way around her ankles and purring loudly.

"I'm sorry, would you mind?" Without waiting for an answer Ruth pushed her bag into Harry's hands and indicated that he should hold it open, before she tucked her hair behind her ears and resumed the hunt for the keys.

"I could just pick the lock," Harry told her matter of factly.

The scrabbling immediately stopped and Ruth's eyes rose to meet his. "Don't tell me things like that. I'd like to believe that my house is my own little sanctuary, immune to the intrusions of the outside world." Her eyes dropped to the bag again. "I don't understand it; I know that I put my keys in here."

Harry coughed slightly as a thought hit him. "Ahh."

Ruth's eyes snapped up to meet his again, suspicion plain on her face. "What do you mean by 'ahh'?" she paused and looked intently at him. "Tell me that you don't mean what I think you mean by 'ahh'."

Harry's expression told Ruth all she needed to know and she snatched her bag back out of Harry's hands, clutching it to her chest protectively.

A guilty expression on his face, Harry dipped his hand into his overcoat pocket and withdrew a set of keys, holding them between two fingers, letting them swing from the fluffy key ring they were attached to.

Ruth snatched them from his hand, making it clear that she wasn't pleased at the thought that he had been looking through her things. He thought about mentioning the fact that on any given morning he could call up the results of the security scan she went through and find out exactly what she was carrying, but decided that perhaps it wasn't the most prudent thing to mention.

He took in the accusing expression on her face and smiled in what he hoped was an apologetic manner.

"Would it be any consolation if I were to tell you that I had them because I was going to stop by to feed your cat?"

Ruth shook her head and set about selecting the front door key.

"What if I was to say that I asked Sam to find them for me?"

"Then I'd think you were a liar as well as a nosy parker," she called back over her shoulder as she slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

Hearing the heavy sigh, she turned and glared at him. "And I don't want to hear one word about my security measures or lack thereof."

Harry held up his hands. "Reflex action; although if you want to maintain your splendid isolation from the rest of the world, I'd suggest that you let Malcolm and Colin sort out your home security."

"And end up with a home that's so secure that I can't get into it?" she shuddered. "No thanks."

She turned, realising that Harry was now standing on her doorstep. "See," she told him. "I'm safely home. You can consider your duty done."

Harry looked at her searchingly. "Now I'm here, aren't you going to invite me in?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**This second part was lost within the chaos that has been my life for the last few months. The return of the series was the kick I needed to get on with writing it.**_

* * *

Harry watched in silence as Ruth ran her thumb back and forth across a small chip on the rim of her teacup. Ever since she had reluctantly let him into her house she hadn't truly relaxed. She had busied herself in the kitchen making tea that neither of them wanted, tidying away things that didn't need moving, doing everything she could to keep herself occupied; making every effort to avoid the stillness and uncomfortable silence that was the inevitable outcome of actually sitting down. He had remained quiet and let her bustle around the place, content to wait her out. Now; now she had run out of things to do and he waited patiently for the right time to persuade her to talk about what was really bothering her. He watched as her thumb once again moved back and forth, back and forth.

"Ruth?" he called her name gently, but her eyes didn't rise from her intense examination of the small chip on the teacup. She had to talk to someone. She had to let go of the thoughts that were spinning around in her head, desperate for answers. He found it hard to imagine her lost for words. Since that day she had first breezed onto the Grid, she had been a veritable force of nature. There were always a thousand thoughts running around in her head. She rarely spoke out against the things they did, no matter how they affected her, but when she did, the eloquence of her words and the force of her argument always made an impact.

"Ruth?" He called her name again, prepared to wait her out... however long that might take.

Finally she sighed heavily, her thumb slowing in its progress around the rim of the cup before eventually coming to a stop.

"He died," she said simply, her voice barely breaking the silence that had filled the air. Harry waited; knowing that there was more to come.

"I sat there and I watched as a man I knew died." Her gaze remained focussed firmly on the rim of the cup. "A man that I knew ... or thought I did..." she shook her head. "So quiet, so without drama ... he** just** died...just stopped breathing."

"I'm sorry," Harry told her honestly. "But he had to be stopped."

"Right there in front of me," she continued on as though she hadn't heard Harry's apology. "Right there, and there wasn't a thing I could do." She fell silent, her mind replaying the unwanted images with disturbing clarity.

"Try not to think about it," Harry advised gently.

Ruth slowly raised her head in his direction, acknowledging his presence in the room for the first time and the look she shot him was one of disbelief.

"Whilst it might be par for the course for you, death is not the norm for me. I can't just turn off my emotions with a click of my fingers. It was real, he was real. I sat there helpless and watched as another human being died in front of me Harry. I don't think I'm going to be able to stop thinking about it for weeks."

"I didn't mean to sound flippant," he told her gently, but she waved the apology away.

"I'm sorry," she told him, her tone softening. "I'm just a little on edge, that's all. Maybe you were right." She looked at the puzzled expression on his face. "About staying in overnight... Maybe it is too soon to be back here."

"You feel safe here though, don't you?"

"Yes... it's just..." she paused for a moment, and then shrugged her shoulders, "It's nothing."

Harry watched as Ruth placed her cup down on the table before rubbing absently at her wrists again. He'd noticed the way that she'd been periodically rubbing them since their meeting in the hospital. There were red patches on her skin, but whether that came from whatever Forrestal had used to restrain her, or from the constant rubbing he couldn't be sure.

Abruptly she pulled her left hand away from her right wrist and yanked the cuffs of her top down over the marks.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised, realising that he'd been caught staring. "I couldn't help noticing."

"It's nothing," she told him quickly.

"You seem to have become inordinately fond of that word in the last two hours," he told her gently. "I'm beginning to wonder just how big this 'nothing' really is."

When he'd tried to engage her in conversation in the car she'd shrugged off every question with the same answer. Nothing was wrong, nothing was on her mind. Nothing was the matter. Harry knew for a fact that that wasn't the case. He resolved to push Ruth a little harder for answers but was unable to do so as, without warning, Ruth rose to her feet and bolted out of the room.

Moments later he heard a door slam. He closed his eyes; the events of the previous twenty-four hours starting to catch up with him. He almost envied Ruth her reaction. He briefly wondered just when it was that a man's death became something that he could shrug off. It was a side of his nature that he was uneasy with, but it was a very necessary attribute if he was to stay within his chosen field.

He opened his eyes again moments later and glanced away to his left realising that he was being studiously watched. A grey tabby cat; its tail swishing violently from one side to the other was seated on the carpet in the corner of the room, staring unblinking at him. If he was honest with himself he'd never been entirely certain when it came to cats. When a dog approached you with a wagging tale it was odds on that the animal was pleased to see you... when a cat did the same there was no way of knowing exactly which way things were going to go. In balance it was a little akin to a meeting with a politician; they had a disturbing tendency to say one thing and mean something entirely different. He narrowed his eyes and glared back at the cat. It sat there unmoved; its tale still twitching to a rhythm that only it could hear.

Ruth re-entered the room; her face pale; her hands shaking slightly. Harry recognised the signs and dutifully said nothing on the subject. He nodded instead in the direction of Fidget. "I get the feeling that your cat doesn't appreciate my presence. He's done nothing but stare at me from the moment I sat down."

"You** are** in his seat," Ruth told him matter-of-factly as she retook her place on the sofa.

Silence fell again upon the room. Harry sensed that Ruth was uncomfortable with the absence of conversation and he wished he could come up with a topic – non work related – that he could fill the cavernous silence with. In that one moment he envied Malcolm. He knew that his colleague would have no problem in knowing the right thing to say to break the ice. He on the other hand had never really been one for small talk. He felt acutely aware of the silence, and racked his brains for something that would be acceptable as light conversation in the circumstances.

"Would you... Would you..." Ruth's words made him jump, but almost as soon as they'd begun they tailed off and Harry had the impression that she didn't have the courage to complete the sentence.

"Would I what?' he asked quietly.

"Would you... like another drink," she finished finally.

"I'm fine...thank you," he told her, noticing the way that she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece again. There was a nervousness in the look, something that didn't escape his attention. Whatever she had wanted to ask him she had backed away from.

There was something else bothering her; that was obvious. What exactly that something was; he wasn't sure. He mentally ran back over the events since they'd met at the hospital. From the word go, she had been wanting to return to the security of surroundings she was familiar with; that he could understand. But upon reaching home, she'd been anything but settled. He wondered if it was his presence that was making her nervous; after all it wasn't as though it was something that they usually did... any meetings they had related to work, and he wondered if the effort of making conversation was one of the factors causing her to be so unsettled.

He placed his cup down on the small table next to him and rose to his feet, brushing the traces of cat hair from his suit.

"If you're sure you're ok ..." he turned to face her and saw the way that she gripped her own cup tighter; her hands rigid around the smooth porcelain surface. Her whole body had tensed up and she seemed to be struggling to find something to say.

The realisation hit him and he felt like an idiot for not picking up on it sooner. Being alone was obviously the thing that she feared the most at the moment; she was too embarrassed to admit it, and he'd now worked himself into a situation where it was going to be hard not to reveal the fact that he realised her fear.

"I hope you don't think of this as an imposition," he began, still not entirely certain of the direction of the sentence. "Would you mind if I took you up on the offer of another drink? Perhaps something a little stronger this time?"

He watched the way that her shoulders relaxed immediately. He turned and picked up the empty cup from the small table. "Stay where you are," he told her softly. "I'm sure I can navigate my way around your kitchen." He gestured to Ruth's own empty cup. "Can I get you something?"

He watched the way that she stared almost uncomprehendingly at the cup she still had gripped within her hands.

"You're probably right," he attempted to cover for her lack of an answer. "You probably shouldn't drink with the medication that the hospital prescribed for you."

Ruth mechanically pushed one hand into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small handful of brightly coloured tablets. "You mean these?" she questioned. "I've never really been one for taking drugs of any kind."

Harry stared at the small collection of tablets for a moment before shaking his head and moving towards the door.

"Red or white?"

He wasn't unduly surprised when there was no reply. He felt his phone buzz in his jacket pocket again and, cursing to himself, waited until he was out in the hallway before lifting it up so that he could see the display. He'd been aware of its persistent demand for attention for the past ten minutes, but had chosen to ignore it. Now, now he felt as though the least he could do was acknowledge the latest call. If the Grid was going up in flames the least he could do was tell them where the fire extinguisher was.

"Malcolm."

"Harry," Malcolm's voice was slightly hesitant. Harry sighed impatiently. Malcolm had a way of making one simple word carry more meaning than it had any right to.

"Yes Malcolm. What is it?"

"Your meeting with the Home Secretary..." he paused. "...I made apologies on your behalf and said that you were unavoidably detained. He's rearranged for Monday morning."

Harry swore beneath his breath; he'd forgotten all about the meeting that had been set up earlier in the week. "Thank you Malcolm. That's another one I owe you."

"Another two actually." Malcolm waited a beat for a query from Harry before continuing. "I also took the liberty of activating your out of office. I know that it won't stop certain people reaching you, but it should at least keep a few of the wolves from the door."

Harry decided that it was best not to ask whether or not Malcolm had hacked into his email account and to simply thank the man for yet another favour.

"It's a pleasure," Malcolm told him honestly. "And pass on my regards to Ruth." The call was disconnected before Harry could say anything further.

* * *

Harry re-entered the room with a bottle of red in one hand and two glasses in the other. He'd been pleasantly surprised by Ruth's collection of wine. Whilst the number of bottles had been small, the variety had been good. He'd selected what promised to be a smooth Chilean merlot and then mercifully located the glasses and the bottle opener without having to resort to going through every drawer and cupboard in the room.

"Ahh..." he slowed to a halt as he realised that there was now a grey tabby cat occupying the seat he had vacated. It was lying there, casually licking one paw as though challenging him to come and try to move it from its resting place. He placed the glasses and the bottle of wine down on the table and glared at the cat. There was now only one place left to sit and that was on the sofa next to Ruth. He gestured towards the cat. "I don't fancy my chances in reclaiming my seat," he admitted. "I think cats can sense when they're in the presence of a dog person."

A small smile ghosted across Ruth's face. "I somehow didn't picture you as a cat person."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but seek clarification.

Ruth shrugged her shoulders. "Some people... you can just tell." She shifted her position on the sofa slightly.

Harry took the unspoken invitation and sat down next to her before reaching for the wine. "You have a good film to go with this fine looking bottle of Merlot?"

Ruth shrugged her shoulders again and then, almost reluctantly, gestured towards a small wooden cabinet. "There's not much," she apologised. "And none of it is exactly what you'd call recent."

Harry poured two glasses of wine, passing one to Ruth before rising to his feet and approaching the cabinet; acutely aware that Ruth's cat was watching his every move.

"I'll see what I can find."

* * *

Harry and Ruth sat in companionable silence as the credits rolled slowly up the screen. Two empty bottles sat on the table in front of them. As one film had led to another, so one bottle had led to a second. Harry glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, surprised to see that the new day had started well over an hour ago. He wondered idly how Ruth would react if he was to suggest opening a third bottle. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed much more relaxed than she had earlier, and he knew that that wasn't entirely due to the wine.

Finally the credit roller came to an end and the DVD reverted back to the menu screen. Silence fell upon the room; the only light coming from the handful of flickering images that repeated themselves in an endless loop. The DVD remote was on the table out of reach, but Harry didn't want to break the tranquillity of the moment. He knew that once the moment was broken, reality would come crashing in and they'd both have to face the reality of the world that they chose to live in.

It was Ruth who broke the silence. She shifted position on the sofa, placing the empty wine glass she'd been cradling back down on the table. Harry had sensed that she still had something she wanted to say to him, but reasoned that she wasn't yet ready to fully deal with what had happened. Her words fell so quietly from her mouth that he almost missed them.

"Thank you," she told him softly. "...For staying...I mean it's stupid...This is my own house." She looked down at her hands in the half light. "Thank you for not saying anything ... for just staying..." she tailed off as though afraid she might say something she shouldn't.

"It's not a problem," Harry was quick to reassure her. "It was nice to be able to share a bottle of wine and enjoy a film with good company..." He glanced at Ruth out of the corner of his eye; suddenly aware that he might be overstepping some unspoken boundary. She however had not heard his reply, her mind now free from distractions was returning to the events of the previous day, her left hand rubbing subconsciously at the red marks on her right wrist.

"I sat there and for a moment... I was glad that he was dead...I was glad that it was him and not me ...What does that make me?"

"Human," Harry told her as he scratched behind Fidget's ear. The cat purred loudly in response. He wasn't sure he could recall exactly when the cat had decided that he wasn't actually feline enemy number one, but he had to admit that he was already feeling rather at home with the contented purring of the cat.

"I think you've got yourself a fan," Ruth told him, using the situation as a distraction.

"Forrestal's death was not your fault," Harry, somewhat reluctantly, bought the conversation back to the matter in hand. "He had to be stopped."

"We did this...we killed him...just what sort of people are we? We go home at the end of the day knowing that we've just killed someone and we switch the television on, or kiss our loved ones and pretend as though nothing unusual has happened? What the hell are we doing to people Harry? What are we turning them into?

Harry looked into her questioning eyes and wished that he had the answer.


End file.
